


How To Make A Hobbit Drink In Five Minutes Or Less: A Study In Salads, Silverfeet and Swords.

by Arken_Stone1



Series: How To Make A Hobbit Do Things In Five Minutes Or Less [12]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo is now Bella Baggins, Dinner in Rivendell, F/M, Guess what will be learned at Dinner, Rule 63, Sting - Freeform, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arken_Stone1/pseuds/Arken_Stone1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does one conduct oneself amongst Kings in Rivendell?  Well, as usual, our feisty little Hobbit is the unknown factor in a very otherwise proper dinner party.  It is a study in Salads, Silverfeet and Swords and no one saw any of it coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Make A Hobbit Drink In Five Minutes Or Less: A Study In Salads, Silverfeet and Swords.

Disclaimer: All the characters appearing in The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are copyrighted by Warner Brothers and the J.R.R. Tolkien estate. No infringement of these copyrights intended, and is not authorized by the copyright holder. I write this fan fiction only for love of the The Hobbit and not for profit.

 

How To Make A Hobbit Drink In Five Minutes Or Less: A Study In Salads, Silverfeet and Swords.

 

The gentle strums of the harps wove a quiet melody as it entwined with the lilting tune of Elvin flutes. The melody and counter-melody soothed Bella’s frazzled nerves after the recent danger of being chased for miles by Orcs and Wargs. She tried remaining stoic and strong, but her legs felt like jelly and her insides quivered. She looked at Thorin once who sat only a few feet away from her, who gave her a slow nod and a ghost of a smile. She took several deep breaths to steady her nerves, but it did absolutely nothing for her.

“Come, Bella, take a sip of the wine,” Balin gently urged her. “It is sweeter to the tongue than honey and it will bring about a serenity you need at the moment.”

“I don’t think I can,” she crinkled her brow as she considered her current state. “My tummy is flip-flopping more than a flapjack at elevensies. I think that spirits are the last thing I need at the moment.”

“Then, we shall have a bit of Old Toby after dinner, then?” The wise old Dwarf asked.

“I think that is a splendid idea,” she gave him a good smile. Nothing soothed frayed nerves that well-aged pipe weed.

She studied the Company as they talked amongst themselves, some picking at their food. Her pantry was paltry in comparison to the feast that Lord Elrond had ordered prepared for them, yet the Dwarves seemed adverse to eating the delicacies before them on their plates. Primly crossing her ankles, she watched with mirth as she watched an elder try to convince the youngest of the group to eat his vegetables.

“Come on, lad, take a bite. It won’t hurt you,” Oin urged the young dwarf. “Plants do a body good. Ye’re a growing, still.”

“I don’t like green food,” Ori wrinkled his nose at large green leaf he held in hand. “It smells funny.”

Dwalin nodded in agreement as he tossed his salad from his bowl to his plate. He gave the group a frustrated shrug, “Where’s the meat?”

“I don’t know,” Ori let forth a sigh. “Do they have chips, perhaps?”

Bella said nothing as she reached for another bowl of fresh greens from the center of the table. Piling her salad with fresh scallion and tomato, she took a small bottle of oil and vinegar, drizzling it lightly over her leafy entree. She inhaled deeply of the strong, sweet scent of the leaves as the scent filled her nostrils; she hadn’t enjoyed something so delicious since before leaving the Shire. She took silver fork in hand, spearing several greens lightly covered in the tart vinegarette. Her first bite was an earthy with a bit of herb and sweetness as it rolled over her tongue and she savored every bite. 

Bella sat next to Balin, listening to the Dwarves chatter about their recent narrow escape from the Wargs and the Orc pack. Running for her life over the craggy hills had not been the sort of adventure that Bella had imagined when she left the Shire, nor did she relish reliving the life-threatening experience. Still, they had all survived intact and unscathed which was nothing short of miraculous. For a moment she forgot herself, letting ler fingers touch the braids that that remained tight in her hair. Bella hadn’t had much chance to speak with Thorin since the morning of being at the river, but she wasn’t sure what to say.

Now, she sat with Balin when she wanted nothing more than to be at Thorin’s side. Yet, Elrond and Gandalf commanded his attention at the moment discussing matters important to the quest and gaining important information. Balin was discussing a trip that he had taken to Rivendell in his youth, but Bella’s mind traveled back to yesterday morning by the river. 

“This is Orcist, the Goblin-cleaver,” Elrond’s reverently held it before the others, turning it so that the last golden rays of day glinted off the ornate flourishes swirling along the sheath. “A famous blade blade forged by the High Elves of the West, my kin.” 

Thorin listened intently, not speaking as the Elvin King gave him the sword’s long and glorious history. After he finished, Elrond handed it back to the Prince. “May it serve you well.”

Thorin dipped his head in thanks. Elrond turned his attention to the Old Wizard to his left, motioning for the sword in his hand. Gandalf gladly obliged the monarch, appreciative any information on the recently found treasure in his hand. Once in hand, he pulled the blade partially from its sheath, turning it over and back in his sight as he studied the ancient Elvin Runes of power engraved along the mithral blade. “And this is Glamdring the Foehammer, Sword of the King of Gondolin. These were made for the Goblin Wars in the First Age.”

Bella glanced at the blade that she wore at her side, proud of it so much that she had polished and cleaned it until it shone brightly in the late afternoon sunshine. While she was no warrior, she wondered about the tale behind the dirk she wore. What tale did the blade have to tell?

“I wouldn’t bother, lass,” Balin placed his hand over hers, staying her motion. “Elvin blades are titled for heroics they accomplish in battle.

“What do you mean, Balin?” Bella asked, curious by his comment. “Are you saying that my sword hasn’t seen battle?”

“Actually, it is not truly a sword, but more of a dagger. In the hands of Men or Elves, it is little more than a butter knife. But in the hands of of Hobbit lass, it can be a weapon of protection.” Balin kindly patted her hand, addressing her in the voice one used on an overly curious child. 

“It that were the case then,” Bella slowly pulled her hand away, knowing that Balin meant well. To her, he had become her grandfather in absentia, but still, she found his patronizing comments more than a bit irritating. “Then why was it alongside Orcist and Glamdring in the cave? I’m sure it has a tale as all Elvin blades seem to have and I want to know that tale.”

Balin rolled his eyes skyward, muttering something in Khuzdul which Bella thought of as some Dwarvin variant. “Oi vey.”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Bella interjected and all eyes turned to her. Thorin glowered at her with a gaze that practically screamed, “how dare you interrupt this important conversation. Gandalf’s expression was one of mild amusement at the Hobbit’s outburst while Elrond eyes focused on the sheathed blade that she held out to him. “Please forgive my rudeness, Lord Elrond, but I couldn’t let this opportunity pass! Would you be so kind as to examine this and tell me the tale of this dagger?” 

“Mistress Hobbit,” Thorin’s menacing growl sent chills through her bones. “Be quiet!”

“Come closer, Mistress Baggins and let me see your blade,” he motioned her. She hopped up from where she sat, scurrying past a very irate Thorin to stand by Elrond’s side. Without another word, she handed her weapon to him and he removed it from the sheath. “You’ve taken care to clean it well and that is to your credit.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she replied softly, not believing that she had just interrupted two kings during a dinner conversation. Even her Took side scolded her for being that foolish. Still, how often did a Hobbit sit a dinner table with two great kings listening to their dinner conversation? It was worth the later admonishment she knew that she would hear from Thorin to truly be a part of this once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

“Hmm. . .” he said after a moment, turning the blade back and forth in his hand. His eyes grew bright in that same moment, he sighed deeply. All became still at the feast table and a look of alarm crossed Gandalf’s features as he turned to stare at Bella. She gave a helpless shrug and mouthed, “What?” 

She watched as Elrond turned away for a moment before an an awkward silence fell over the dinner party. Even Oin and Ori quit talking to see the others staring at Bella. With grace and dignity befitting a King of Rivendell, Elrond returned the sword to its sheath before giving it to Bella. “Mistress Baggins, the blade in your possession was a hunting dirk that once belonged to the handmaiden of my wife, Celebrian. When my wife became lost to me, so did all of her entourage. I see that you have found a remnant of that day.”

“I am so sorry, Your Majesty,” Bella whispered, feeling more of a fool of a Took with each passing moment.

“You didn’t know and all is well, Mistress Baggins,” Elrond assured her, a deep sigh escaped him. “The dirk may have seen battle, but remains unnamed. I will tell you this, it is a weapon not to be underestimated. Upon it is engraved, Maegnas aen estar nin dagnir in yngyl im.”

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Bella stammered. “But, I don’t speak Sindarin.” 

“Of course, Lady Hobbit,” he nodded, smiling with understanding. “Upon it is engraved, ‘Maegnas is my name, I am the spider's bane. With my blade, I bring my sting.’ I find it appropriate that it has found its way into the hands of a brave and clever lady such as yourself, Mistress Baggins. It was always meant to belong to one of the line of Idril, also called Celebrindal, the Silver-foot. She was called such because she always went barefoot and now it has returned to her descendant.”

Gandalf’s brows rose nearly to touch his hat and he said something to Elrond in Elvish which none but those two understood. Their heads came together and they spoke in hushed tones, glancing occasionally at Bella. This felt quite like the moment when Elrond’s private guard had circled the Company in Rivendell’s courtyard, making her feel very small and helpless, indeed. She saw Gandalf nod once deeply and stare for a moment at her while he continued conversing in Elvish with Elrond. 

Again, that stilted silence fell over the table as they all stared at Bella who, by then, wanted to do nothing more than to crawl under the dinner table. Elrond raised his hands and called for the musicians to play a lively tune. The Dwarves stared at one another in silent question and Gandalf spoke a few words in Khuzdul to Balin before he continued his conversation with Gandalf as if nothing had happened.

“How did these come to you?” Elrond asked. “I must tell you, Gandalf, I have not seen treasures such as these for millennia. You have truly come by weapons thought lost to time and legend.”

“We found them in a Troll-hord on the Great East road,” Gandalf’s amazement became evident in his explanation. “shortly before we were attacked by the Orc Pack.”

“Balin,” Bella whispered in his ear as he took another bite of salad. “What just happened?”

“It seems that you’ve fulfilled an ancient prophesy about how the lost line of Idril will help the line of Durin reclaim the Mountain. It isn’t unlike the prophesy that Oin gave to Thorin as his Sakhzigir before we started on this quest,” Balin explained softly. “Oin read Thorin’s runes the same way that he read yours. According to the runes, Lass, Thorin was to find His One and she is destined to help him reclaim Erebor. His name shall be written upon her wrist and his song shall call to her as no other. She will be his lost treasure which only he will have difficulty finding.”

“He was late that first night because he couldn’t find the mark Gandalf left upon my door,” she gasped, her eyes widened as the pieces came together in a very grand design of interwoven destinies. It certainly explained the legends of Elvin blood running through Tookish veins and the strange flourish or writing on the inside of her wrist that appeared as runes rather than a Hobbit’s script. She found it difficult to breathe as the weight and scope of destiny surrounded her, giving her no room for escape. 

She looked at Thorin through a hooded gaze, her eyes concealed only by her lashes. His eyes appeared dark and bottomless as he returned her gaze. It wasn’t one of scorn or disdain, but one tainted with sadness. “Does he still think I’m such a bother?”

“I can’t speak for his heart at the moment, Lass,” Balin shrugged in his King’s direction. “I only know that he can’t be happy at the moment of this confirmation because to reclaim Erebor, he must lose the Heart of the Mountain from the line of Idril.”

“What do you mean, Balin, ‘lose?’” Bella asked urgently. 

“We’re not sure,” Balin said slowly. “At first we thought that the Heart of the Mountain referred to the Arkenstone, but now we know differently. He must make a choice: lose his One or lose our Homeland. Yet without the Heart of the Mountain, His One, he’ll never be able to find it. Either way, he loses something beyond great price.”

“I don’t believe in prophesy,” Bella huffed, filled with defiance. “I still believe that we make our own luck and destiny. By the Valar! We wouldn’t have gotten past the Orcs and the Wargs if we hadn’t had Gandalf’s quick thinking. Prophesy, Balin, isn’t bunk, but only a guideline of what will come if one stands by and does nothing, my aunt used to say.”

“Yet, it is prophesy that has led us to you,” Balin countered.

It was difficult to breathe as Bella’s chest tightened painfully as everything surrounded her, threatening to suffocate her if she didn’t leave the table. She didn’t want to make a scene after already causing a debacled spectacle of causing Elrond emotional pain, embarrassing Thorin with her outburst and finding that either way, being with the Company was a bittersweet fate. She decided to remain quiet, eat her salad, and she took many sips of the Elvin wine. Bella knew between the strong spirits and the pipe weed, she would be feeling no pain that night.

 

To be continued....

**Author's Note:**

> Celebrian - Elrond's wife.
> 
> Note: A few readers have asked me about Bella having Elvin blood and this is how she has it. She is the descendent of Idril, also called Celebrindal, the Silver-foot. She was called such because she always went barefoot. When I saw that, I knew that was start of something special.
> 
> Maegnas -this is mentioned in The Silmarillion.
> 
> Sakhzigir - Per a couple of Khuzdul dictionaries, I found root words which are the basis for two that I've created here for the purpose of the story. Sakh means "to see" and Zigir means "to do magic." For this story, Sakh also means to experience a vision and a Sakhzigir is a Dwarvin Mystic or practitioner. This word was first featured in my story, "How To Tell A Hobbit's Future In Five Minutes Or Less: A Study In Runes."


End file.
